Women Make The Man Ch 05 Dad

This is chapter 5 in the novella "Women Make the Man". It can be read alone, but I recommend reading from the beginning.

*****

It was the summer after my high school graduation and before my freshman year at college. I had turned 18 a few weeks before. It was the mid-sixties and we were spending the summer at our cottage on the coast of New England.

As was the custom of our summers on the Island, my dad arrived Friday night after spending the work week up at the city house.

At dinner, the conversation turned to my well-paying handyman job.

"Billy's been doing a lot of work for Janet LaPage," my mother offered.

"Oh, what's he been doing?" my dad asked.

"Just general clean up, yard work type stuff," I quickly entered.

"She's paying him twenty dollars," my mom said.

"Twenty dollars!" my dad exclaimed. "I sure hope he's worth it!" He looked me in the eye. "You better be careful. Janet's the kind of woman who can really take advantage of you!"

I lowered my gaze. "Uh, yeah, it seems like a pretty good deal so far," I said softly.

"It just seems like a lot of money," he said. "Well, I guess she can afford it.

The next morning my dad and I were out working in the yard cleaning up and getting things in order after the long off season. My mom was hosting the coffee klatch in our kitchen.

I came in to get a drink of water.

"Hi, Billy," said Janet evenly.

"Hi, Jan... er, uh, Mrs. LaPage," I stammered.

"Looks like you're working hard," said Nance Raycroft.

"Uh, yeah. It's starting to warm up out there," I responded, making my way over to the sink where my mother was standing.

Just then my dad came through the screen door.

"Oh Hi, Bill," said Janet brightly stubbing out her cigarette, "How have you been? Good to be back on the Island?"

"Oh, yeah, good to see you too," my dad replied. "Did you head down to Florida for the winter?"

Janet turned to face him, "No, I stayed up here. Just me and Nance holding down the fort."

"Oh too bad I didn't know that. We could've come down and had a New Year's party or something." Dad rested his hand on the back of her chair.

Nance piped up, "I kind of like it here in the winter. It's nice and quiet."

My dad looked at Janet. "Well Fourth of July is coming. We ought to have a cookout or something."

Janet looked over at me standing next to my mom. "You're really lucky, Marian. Two handsome men around the house!"

My mom put her arm around my sweaty body, "They're my guys!"

That afternoon I headed down to the beach. The summer crowd wouldn't be arriving for another week, so I was a little surprised to see my friend Steve Thompson and his sister making their way down the shore from their parents' cottage on the far side of the island.

Steve was a few weeks older than I was and although he was from a different part of the state, we'd spent summers on the Island together since we were kids. Like me, he'd be heading off to U of M in September. I could see Steve was growing his hair out Beatle-style and was doing his best to cultivate a mustache.

Liz was a couple years older. She'd already completed her sophomore year at a small liberal arts school in Maine that was as noted for its progressive curriculum as its alcohol friendly campus. She had grown her hair long in an attempt to affect the sleek jazz dancer look, but her brunette curls would have none of it. A couple years later and she would have been indistinguishable from all the other wild haired hippie girls, but in 1965 she looked barely civilized.

"Hey, Billy, howya been?" Steve said in his slow deep voice.

"OK. You're down here early."

"Came down right after graduation. You back at the restaurant again?"

"Yeah. You workin'?"

"Gonna be pumpin' gas at Gleason's" he replied.

Steve had a way of getting interested in a topic and doggedly pursuing it to the farthest corner he could find. Lately it had been British Blues and all things English. Not just the Beatles, Stones, and Yardbirds, but obscurities like Long John Baldry and Graham Bond.

Our arguments about American bands versus Brit bands often dragged endlessly into the summer nights.

Liz had all of her brother's obsessiveness, but none of his concentration. One year she had been totally absorbed by the Lost Generation: Hemingway, Zelda, and Gertrude Stein. The next year it was Kerouac, Ginsberg, and folk music. This year it was "Heinlein. Robert Heinlein. 'Stranger in a Strange Land'. All my friends have read it. That's the book I want to read this summer. It's about a guy who was raised on Mars. Don't you wonder what it would be like to grow up not knowing what the rules are supposed to be? Heinlein says there's no morality. It's just arbitrary rules. The only thing is right and wrong. But how do you know right and wrong unless someone tells you. What do you think? I'm just not sure."

***

For dinner that night, my parents and I went over the bridge to the Village and had a Greek pizza. We got back home in time to catch Jerry Lee Lewis on Shindig. TV reception was exceptionally good that night.

"They say he married his twelve year old cousin," my dad grumbled.

"I don't get it," my mom said.

I wanted to watch Secret Agent, but my folks insisted on Gunsmoke, so I headed upstairs to do some reading.

I heard the end of the Gunsmoke theme. Through the crack in the floorboards I could see the bathroom light click on. I got down on the floor and put my eye to the opening.

My mom had removed her blouse and was sitting before the mirror in her bra, taking off her make up. My dad came in and peed into the toilet. He came up behind her and put his arms around her, feeling her tits.

"Oh, Bill," she said with playful scorn, "What do you think you're doing?

"I'm feeling my wife," he replied kissing her neck and shoulders.

"Billy's upstairs!" Mom protested.

Dad unhooked her bra and eased it off her shoulders. Her full round breasts hung free.

"Then we won't go upstairs," he said.

"We can't do it in the living room!" she protested.

"Why not?"

"Well ... let me get a towel," she said.

The bathroom went dark. Quietly I moved over to the stairwell where I could get a view of the living room below.

My mom spread the towel on the braided rug, slipped off her panties and laid down, her legs slightly spread. In the soft light I could see her round tits with their dark nipples, the curve of her hips, and the perfect dark triangle of her pussy.

My dad undressed and stood over her, his muscular body naked, his cock sticking straight out. I held my breath knowing what was coming next.

Dad kneeled down beside her and reached his finger into my mother's pussy. I watched him work it in and out.

"Are you ready yet?" he asked.

"Mmm Hmm," came the reply.

With that he spread her legs and climbed between them. He took his cock in his hand and placed it in her cunt. I watched the thrust as he entered her.

Dad's strong tanned back contrasted with my mother's fair white skin. I could see his buttocks tense with every stroke. Then three quick thrusts, and with a groan he collapsed on top of her.

She put her arms around his shoulders.

"I love you, Bill."

"I'm so lucky." he said. "All the guys at work are jealous I've got such a beautiful wife."

"What, do they talk about me? They say she's a good lookin' woman?"

"Yeah, something like that."

With that, he rolled off her, his softening cock leaving a sticky trail of cum across her pure white thigh that glistened in the soft light. Her pubic hair was matted and wet.

They lay there for a bit, and then my mom said, "Well, I'd better go get cleaned up," and headed back to the bathroom.

My dad took the towel, wiped the cum off his cock and headed for the stairs.

Quickly and quietly I scrambled back to bed, my own cock as hard as a rock. It stayed hard as my dad got into bed and quickly fell asleep. It stayed hard as my mom made her way up the stairs, her thin cotton nightie outlining her every curve. It stayed hard until I was sure they were both asleep.

Then as I reached in to pull my hot penis out from my pajamas, the friction of the fabric set off a powerful tremor. My cock began to pulse and pump. I grabbed it just in time to feel a powerful jet of cum squirt through the fabric of my pants. I soon fell asleep with my hand still holding my prick.

I woke the next morning after both my parents had already headed down to breakfast. Feeling the stiff cum stained fabric of my pajama bottoms, I recalled all that had happened the night before.

Quickly I unsnapped my pajamas and let my rock hard cock stick straight up in the morning air. I gripped the base of the shaft and pulled up toward the tip. Then still holding tight I pushed back down my solid shaft. A jet of cum shot up and landed with a plop on my belly. My cock kept pumping its load covering the head, streaming down the shaft and over my thumb until it pooled around the bottom of my prick.

I really had to pee. Quickly I closed up my pajamas over the sticky mess and ran downstairs. I watched in the mirror as the yellow stream forced its way out of the tip that only moments before had been pumping cum.

I heard my mother's voice. "C'mon, Billy. I made pancakes!"

(To be continued...)